Fishing In Fire, page 4
“Me neither,” Kelton said. He added quickly, “I’m not complaining, though. Yumi, you go right on telling bad jokes.”
They resumed walking. If Swann and Kelton hadn’t kissed right there in front of her, Annette probably wouldn’t have believed it had happened. Watching them, she felt . . . not jealous, exactly. Jealous was when someone had something you wanted and you wanted that person to suffer or to lose whatever it was that she had. Annette was happy for Swann and Kelton. Kelton Fielding! That must have been some snowmobile trip, for a guy who had so often been the outsider to end up with a girl Annette knew for a fact was the subject of many of the guys’ crushes.
Annette simply wondered what it would be like to have a boyfriend. She’d never kissed a boy, and she wondered how that felt. But it was more than that. With that kiss, Swann had declared to them all, and maybe to Kelton too, judging by his surprised expression, that the two of them were together. They belonged together and could share things like that water tube. And kisses. They were each other’s favorite person. Annette would love to be someone’s favorite.
She glanced at Hunter, who kept pace with her, just a little bit behind her on her right. He smiled. Why was he so cute when he smiled? His sandy brown hair was always just a bit messed up, like he was always more interested in the next big outdoor adventure than in getting a haircut. He was kind of short, even for the end of summer before seventh grade. And he was a little stocky, not too much. Just solid. Some of the boys had started lifting weights. Would he be one of them? How would Hunter look with his muscles all puffed up? Her cheeks were red. She hoped everyone would think that was merely due to the hike and the heat of the day.
“How you doing, Slayer?” she asked. Where had that come from? She almost never called him Slayer. She loved the way his name sounded. “Hunter.”
“Good.” He moved up to walk along beside her. The trail was narrow, so they had to walk close. “We still on course?”
“Sure,” Annette said, certain of that much, at least. “My father and I used to take this route a lot. Still a ways to go, but we’re not lost, if that’s what you mean.”
“Oh no,” Hunter said quickly, “that’s not what I was getting at. I just meant, like, is everything good and are we getting closer. You know, like how adults will see you doing homework and say something like, You getting through it? I should have just asked you what’s up.”
Why hadn’t she understood him? Why did everything with Hunter Higgins have to be so complicated? Just act normal! “Sure,” she said. “It stinks we had to leave Painted Pond, but it’s great to be out here.”
“You, um . . .” Hunter began.
Annette waited for a long moment for him to continue. “I . . . what?”
A few paces behind them, Yumi and Swann were talking about some video game. Maybe the two of them being busy with that gave Hunter the courage to continue.
“You remember the welcome-back-to-middle-school dance?”
Annette laughed a little, and took her eyes off the trail to look at Hunter. He did not meet her gaze. His cheeks were red, though from the hike and growing heat or from embarrassment, she couldn’t tell. “The dance last night? Yes, I remember.”
“Yeah.” He spoke slowly and deliberately. “Duh. Of course you remember. I just meant that at that dance . . . well, your dress was real good.” Then he hurried to finish. “It was a real nice dress.”
She bit her lip to hold in her laughter. Hunter Higgins was trying to compliment her. Nobody ever complimented her, not even teachers, who were no longer surprised by, but merely expected, good schoolwork from her. She certainly wasn’t ever praised by boys. And he was so embarrassed trying to say all this. She needed to help him relax.
“Thanks. It was my sister’s dress.”
“Well, it looked—you looked—really pretty.”
Her heart beat heavier. She swallowed. He was so sweet. “Thank you,” she said quietly.
“Yumi said I should tell you that,” Hunter said. When Annette looked at him, he shook his head and quickly added, “But I . . . I . . . you know, thought it. Myself. I thought it, told Yumi, she said—”
Now Annette did laugh. “I get it. Thank you.”
The group climbed another mildly challenging rise and took a moment to rest on top of the ridge. They were above the trees, above the whole world it seemed, except for the larger mountains in the hazy distance.
“Too bad the sky out there has to be so brown,” Yumi said.
“Smoke from fires in Montana,” Kelton said.
“I thought the smoke was from fires in Oregon,” Hunter said.
“What difference does it make?” Yumi said. “It looks gross, and sad. And it’s like this every summer.”
Swann held her hand out toward the expansive view. “Yeah, but even if it’s a little hazy, look at that. I was talking to Cynthia this last school year, back during the worst part of the war. And I . . . I’ll just be honest with you all, that was a really crappy time. People were posting some terrible things, about me and about some of you, online and it bothered me. Anyway, Cynthia said”—Swann spoke slowly, as if concentrating to recite from memory—“that even if it’s not fair, and especially if it’s difficult, to get by in life, to, um, not merely survive but to live, we have to force ourselves to recognize the good things.”
“I like that,” Kelton said.
“Of course you do,” Yumi said. “Swann said it.”
“Well, that’s part of it, yeah,” Kelton agreed. “But, I mean, even though we’re doing better, money’s still tight for me and my mom. Sometimes it gets me down, but I got my dog Scruffy now.” He took a deep satisfied breath. Then he smiled and motioned toward everybody. “And then there’s, you know, all of this. Focusing on the good stuff may not make problems go away, but—”
“But if we focus on the bad stuff, it’s too easy to lose sight of the good,” Swann said.
“And that gets you real down, real quick,” Kelton said.
“Oh, you two are completing each other’s sentences now?” Yumi cut in. “That’s disgustingly cute.”
They laughed and continued on their way back down the other side of the ridge into a valley through which ran a swift-running creek. “This spills into the Payette River,” Annette said. The creek rushed over and around rocks, low in its course. Annette pointed at a white line at least three feet higher than the current water level. “In spring and early summer, the water’s a lot higher here.”
“The last of the melted mountain snowpack coming down,” Hunter said.
Some small trout moved swiftly through the clear creek. “Bigger trout in the river. Plus smallmouth bass and even some salmon,” Annette said. “It’s not far. Right where this creek reaches the river.”
The hike was simple following the creek. They all moved faster, eager to get their hooks in the water. At last they approached the river and reached the secret spot.
“We’re here,” Annette said. The creek spilled into the river. Right downstream from that point a bridge crossed the water. She always thought it looked incredibly elaborate for a country footbridge. On either bank of the river, silver-painted girders rose from concrete abutments. Steel cables sagged over the span between the girders, supporting a walking surface two wood planks wide.
“It’s like the Golden Gate Bridge in San Francisco,” Swann said. “Only super-small, and silver instead of orange.”
Yumi stepped out onto the planks a few paces before turning back to face the group. “I don’t get it. Bridge to nowhere? Why is this here?”
The nearby gravel parking lot was mostly overgrown, so Annette wasn’t surprised Yumi had missed it. Annette pointed to a trail that wound up over the hill on the far bank. “There’s a cabin over there. This lot is as close as anyone can park. They walk from here.” Annette addressed the unspoken question. “Yes, we could have hiked all the way back to the Gator and driven clear around, but it would have taken a lot longer than hiking overland, and we’d run the risk of getting caught driving the Gator.”
“Sweet.” Kelton looked around. With the river, creek, parking lot, and trail, the trees were back a little. Still, being so close to plenty of water, the pines on the perimeter were huge and tall, throwing some shade.
“Water’s usually a little deeper here where the creek joins the river by the bridge,” Annette explained. “The shade helps with the fishing too.”
“And best of all,” Swann said, “no McKenzie and company to ruin it.”
Hunter looked down the long driveway to where it bent in the undergrowth. “No car, so the cabin owners must not be home.”
“No adults,” Yumi said. “It’s just us out here.”
Annette took a seat on the warm smooth wood planks in the middle of the suspension bridge, and pulled her tackle box from her backpack. “Like I was trying to say back at Painted Pond before we were interrupted, trout go for shiny things. And we’re going for a reaction bite, meaning we’re going to move the lure to look like a little tasty creature, as opposed to just deadsticking it, casting the line and leaving it more still until there’s a bite.”
Swann sat down beside her. “How did you learn all this?”
“Practice.” Annette began tying a spinner on her own line, noticing Swann watching her work the improved fisherman’s knot. “My dad and I used to go fishing all the time. I’ve caught hundreds of fish.” When she’d tied on her own spinner with its hairy little fake bug around the hook and the shiny blade dangling from the end of the adjacent wire arm, she offered everyone else the choice between fishing with a simple worm or using a spinner like her. Everybody except Yumi chose the spinner, following her example. She worked quickly to set up Hunter and Kelton.
“So you really know all about fishing,” Swann said after Annette tied on a couple of spinners.
“No,” Annette said. “Others, like Mason back there? They know everything about fishing. I just love it, the sport of it. The challenge. Figuring out what sort of fish are likely in the water, the best way to catch them. It’s as much of an art as writing.”
“You make it almost sound like a poem,” Swann said.
Yumi sat down beside Annette opposite from Swann, grabbing a worm from Annette’s coffee can, sticking it on her hook, and casting. “Roses are red. Violets are blue. I want to start fishing. And so should you.”
She’d said it kind of grumpy, but they all laughed a little, and then cast into the river to finally begin fishing.
right off the small sandy shoulder of eastside drive, north of lake payette, one last tiny orange ember, a speck at the end of the discarded cigarette, flared a little brighter in the breeze. The blackened pine needle upon which the cigarette rested curled up, orange needle turned to black and then orange again in a flame no larger than a fingernail.
The flame crawled in both directions down the needle, and onto the next needles. A little hotter now, the white paper of the cigarette butt browned, blackened, and burst into tiny flame. The wind gusted again, whispering through the pines overhead, and the burning cigarette rolled several feet, lighting other pine needles twice on the way before coming to rest next to a cluster of pine cones. There the flames on the cigarette nearly died, until they were boosted by the ignition of the pine needles beneath it.
Now the fire from where the cigarette had just landed grew hungry, past its timid slow struggle to ignite. It searched for more food, more fuel, and spread in an orange ring over a foot from where it had started. Burning more. Gaining speed.
The cigarette was gone, consumed by its own fire, which ignited a clump of eight large dry pine cones. The pine cones burned quickly, and hot. The leaves of a shrubbery hanging above them browned and blackened, curled and then burned, so that the yellow-orange flames seemed to dance from leaf to leaf, branch to branch. The fire spread from the pine cones up the slope under the burning leaves. The wind gusted, the ashes flared red in delight, the ring of fire surged up the hill a little faster, and light smoke rose into the already hazy air.
CHAPTER 5
Just because Yumi had always lived in McCall, a town people visited to experience the wilderness, didn’t mean she loved every outdoor activity. She liked hunting, but not as much as others in her family. She loved archery and shooting rifles. Swimming and skiing were fun, in their separate seasons. And it was great to simply be out in the wild, hiking and exploring.
She hadn’t been fishing for about three years. As she sat with her feet dangling off the suspension footbridge a few feet above the river, a lot of memories came back to her. She remembered that she didn’t like fishing that much. Now she was reminded of why.
Most of fishing was simply staring at the water, despite what Annette said. Her dad would condemn her lack of adventure spirit for saying so, but video games were more fun. There was always something happening in one of her games. As she watched the water below, there was nothing to do but wait.
How did Annette get so into fishing? And Annette barely counted in fishing compared to Mason Bridger. Mason went fishing nearly every day, except for some of the coldest winter days. He literally was a pro, getting paid to fish. Yumi, on the other hand, had mostly agreed to go fishing just to be with the group.
“This is great,” Annette said quietly, slowly reeling in her line a little.
What was so great about this? If Swann hadn’t made that stupid bet with McKenzie they could have ditched the fishing plan and just hiked in the woods, gone out to see someplace they’d never seen before.
“Fishing is more than a simple sport,” Annette continued lazily. “It’s all about going to a place away from other people, to be alone.”
Yumi couldn’t resist cutting into her speech. “There are five of us here.”
“Alone with other people,” Hunter said. “You know what she means.”
Hunter and Annette were getting along better and better all the time. Ever since Annette came hunting with them last fall, she and Hunter had a certain weirdness between them. Annette was one of the most interesting and open people Yumi had ever met—about everything except who she liked. She’d had a crush once and kept it secret, but now it was pretty clear she liked Hunter. And since there was basically nobody Yumi knew as well as Hunter, she was positive he liked her. Neither of them had the courage to admit that to the other yet, and Yumi was tired of playing go-between, trying to make that happen. At least the two of them were finally acting more at ease with each other than they had since they all set out this morning.
“Fishing is great to relax, you know?” Annette said. “To be with nature, and catch some fish.”
“But why do we have to catch fish to be with nature?” Yumi asked. “I’m not complaining, but trying to understand. We could have just hiked out here to go swimming or something.”
“Maybe it’s like when my dad is working out some story issue for a movie he’s working on,” said Swann. “Sometimes he’s stuck, trying to figure out the next thing, so he paces his office, carrying this pure smooth piece of lapis lazuli. I asked him once, and he said that the movement plus keeping his hands busy with the stone free up his mind to do his best thinking.”
Hunter leaned back so he could see past Annette and look at Yumi. “Kind of like when you’re stumped on some question on your homework, but then you’ll come up with the answer when you’re playing a video game.”
“I take video game breaks just because I like video games,” Yumi said.
Annette’s reel clicked slowly and rhythmically as she cranked the handle. “One of my favorite authors, Tammy Pren, who writes the Mystic Realms books—”
“I love those books,” Swann said.
“I’ve always wanted to play the Mystic Realms tabletop game,” Kelton said. “You know, with the little figures.” Swann gently elbowed him quiet.
Annette smiled, looking at the water. “I watched an interview of Tammy Pren online. She says she can always think better when she goes for walks in the woods with her favorite old polished wooden walking stick, sipping coffee.” Annette sat up straight when her line suddenly jerked taut, but it was only a nibble. The fish must have avoided taking the lure. “There’s something about engaging in an easy physical task that opens our minds to thinking better.”
Yumi watched the water. Annette was pretty great, but sometimes, like when she’d thrown gas on the fire of the war by jumping in the middle with her let’s-all-get-along article, she could be a bit too much. Be with nature? Open our minds? Where did she come up with this stuff?
A tiny quick tightness on Yumi’s line. The pole barely jerked. “Got a little nibble there,” she said. Then the line went tight, the pole was pulled. “Think I got one!”
“All right, Yumi!” Kelton said. “Reel that in!”
The fish was fighting for it, pulling a lot harder than the tiny one she remembered catching with her dad years ago. “He’s not giving up.” Yumi laughed. Of course, she who was the least interested would be the first to catch anything. The surface of the river splashed. A flash of fin.
“Trout really flop around a lot,” Annette said.
“Think you have kind of a big one,” Hunter said.
“Oh no, little fishy buddy.” She giggled. This was more exciting than she thought it would be, kind of a rush to be in a prolonged fight against this living thing. Unlike hunting a deer from a distance with a rifle, her prey was now connected to her on the other end of that line. They shared a physical struggle. “You can’t get away. Come on. I got you.”
After more hand cranks of the reel and a final jerk of the pole, the fish burst up out of the water. It folded itself almost in half, first one way, then the other.
Hunter rushed to his feet, pulling himself up with the metal rail and jerking back his hand. “Ouch. Watch that steel. Plenty hot in the sun.”
